


The Winner

by Nixiesaurus



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, mormor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-10
Updated: 2014-03-10
Packaged: 2018-01-15 05:57:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1293895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nixiesaurus/pseuds/Nixiesaurus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian and James visit a Carnival for Sebastian's birthday gift.  During their visit, Sebastian learns something new about his lover. (Dedicated to TheKingsTiger on Tumblr who provided the prompt!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Winner

It was the vast array of smells that drew Sebastian in. Like any wild animal, the allure of food drove him forward a majority of the time. Granted, an animal’s nature consists of two things: procreation, nutrition. At the time, walking about the carnival gave way to only one of the two options, with the latter being a high probability - at least with the way Jim looked at him. It was Sebastian’s birthday gift, getting to attend the carnival. In his youth, Sir Augustus Moran wasn’t as receptive to the more childish, enjoyable things in the life of his son, so the carnival was something Sebastian had always wanted, but never had.

The grass was soft underfoot, and the sounds of laughter burned his ears. The scent of the food sent his mind into a spiral, but the tiger knew if he ate anything else, James would pick on him for it. The jam waffles, chicken skewers, cotton candy, caramel apple… they had all been devoured in a few chomps by the mouth of the sniper. Jim, on the other hand, had picked like a magpie, stealing a pinch or a bite, here or there. Nibbles of cotton candy, nips of a caramel apple, and Jim licked his fingers clean as he walked alongside Moran, painfully out of place in a suit, among the crowd of people walking in their most comfortable casuals.

“This is ridiculous,” Jim sneered.  
“I can’t believe you brought me to this place,” he huffed.  
Sebastian, ever quiet, simply grinned at the squawking of his partner.  
“Everyone’s so foul. Stuffing their faces and -” Jim paused, pinching off another bite of cotton candy, before speaking with a tacky mouth and smackings of, “bumbling around like idiots. Take me home.”

The tiger shook his head, “No can do,” and a shrug bounced his shoulders, “You told me I could have anything I wanted. Anything at all, and you would give it to me. I demanded time from you - and a visit to the carnival. You’ve no choice. You always keep your word.” The simper on Sebastian’s lips lingered even after he licked it free of the sugary cotton candy. “I can’t help that I was clever in choosing -”

“Stop,” Jim said with a soft gasp, interrupting the sniper.

Instinctively, Sebastian shoved the cotton candy into the nearby rubbish bin; the one within arm’s length. The tone that James used sparked the instincts of the sniper, and on high alert, he looked around, “What? What is it?”

“There,” Jim drawled, his voice barely above a whisper, “do you see it?”

“See what?” Sebastian growled, fingers curling and uncurling, readying himself for what Jim may have spotted in the crowd.

“There,” Jim’s voice, absent in that longing way, hummed through the air among the notes of upbeat music and laughter, “on the wall. Behind the shooting gallery.” Stuffing his hands in his pockets as if to mask how jittery he felt, Jim nodded towards a booth along the sidewall row of playing games, lined with stuffed animals and prizes of all sorts. A shooting range, ‘Shoot out the stars!’ calling from the lips of the older gentleman behind the stand, displayed a row of stuffed animals above the gallery, on a prize rack. Perfect hugging size, a tiger hung, floppy arms and a pink tongue sticking out of its mouth. Button eyes and a long tail, its claws were made of coned faux leather, and its belly was round and white with an ‘x’ for a navel. 

“A bloody softoy tiger?” the sniper laughed out, “That’s what you see?” and oh, the relaxation took his shoulders in a wave, as a sigh of relief left him. Thank goodness, their evening hadn't been spoiled by some unknown assailant in the crowd. “Yes,” Jim perked, rocking on his heels as he neared the shooting gallery, standing alongside it. Above him, flickering white bulbs flashed on and off, multicoloured, clear. Flicker, flicker, flash, flicker, flicker, flash, and the criminal smirked with his tone taunting, “I want the softoy tiger, Tiger.”

“Step right up, play ‘Shoot out the Star!’” the booth worker chimed, his yankee accent somewhere between Chicago and New York, “Shoot out the star, and win your choice of prizes!”

Somewhere in his bones, Sebastian had the urge to draw the Glock from beneath his left arm, to shoot not only the damn stars from the tiny bits of paper at the end of their string, but also to shoot the American booth worker. He never did fancy the yanks too terribly much, but instead of falling into the graces of his desires, the sniper decided to play it the way Jim wanted it. With a slip of his wallet from his back pocket, Moran passed a pound over to the worker, and plucked up the tethered BB rifle from the booth’s countertop.

The urge to go with Plan A returned, when he saw the look that the booth worker gave to him, and to his lover, but Sebastian’s eyes fixated ahead once more. Leaning over the countertop, he balanced his elbow on it, arse tucked out and rifle butt against his shoulder. Squinting, the ‘Thwip!’ of the rifle was heard. Tink, tink, tink! The bullets peppered the metal wall behind the square card of paper with the star on it. There was a whizz of a noise as the piece of paper flew up the line from its place at the far end of the booth, and very simply, the star that adorned the inside had been completely shot out, the paper carrying nothing more than a perfect cut-out in the center.

Baffled, the booth worker cleared his throat and barked a, “We have a winner!” and gestured towards the prizes for Sebastian to take his pick. Moran, reaching out and snatching the piece of paper from the man’s hands, kept it as a trophy for himself. Shoving it in his pocket, the sniper nodded towards the tiger soft toy.

Without argument (and a bit miffed at how the paper had been taken from him), the short booth worker rubbed a hand through his beard and nodded. Waddling to the prize rack, he scooped up the tiger and unhooked it from its place. Giving it a wiggle, he waddled back to the tall blond and handed the softoy over. Taking it with a huff, Moran smirked and walked over to Jim, passing the toy to his lover and grinning broadly, a sick sort of look of pleasure plastered across his lips. His grip left the tiger when James took it, and the Irishman looked the floppy toy tiger over. Wrinkling his nose, it was nearly impossible for him to suppress the smile that slithered, twisted, across his lips. A smile that Sebastian had very rarely seen, but when he did, he knew it was something special.

You see, James sort of sneered when he smiled. His tongue showed through his teeth, bit, and his lips pulled up to expose his jagged, sharp smile. It looked almost like one of those possums, when they hissed, but Sebastian would never tell James that. Never, because in that disturbing little smile, Sebastian found great pleasure. He found one of the reasons why he loved his criminal.

“Happy?” Sebastian grinned foolishly.  
“Never, but this is a start,” Jim chimed, tucking the stuffed, floppy tiger under his arm. As though nothing had happened, Jim continued walking along the carnival’s booth-created aisles with the sniper alongside of him, stooped slightly, if only in hopes of catching a whiff of James’ cologne in the tailwind breeze. The aroma of the food continued to drift through the air, and the dinging sounds of children playing games sung in the air. The evening’s darkness caused the fairy lights and bright bulbs flashing of the booth linings, of the tips of the tents and their walls, to cast a soft glow in the air, and in that moment, Sebastian thought James had never looked so beautiful.

Beautiful, yes, because his lashes were long and his skin pale. His hair dark, perfectly folded, perfectly slicked in every right angle. His suit, fuck, it looked sharp, and Sebastian nearly ran into the tent pole as he walked, not paying any attention to where he was going from the longing stare he gave to his partner. When he shuffled and walked around the pole, James side-eyed his sniper and grinned, coy and coquettish, “Now, the carnival closes just after dark, so you can pick one more thing to do, and we shall, before we leave.”

Worrying his lip, the tiger paused walking and stood straight, glancing around the carnival. The lights of the haunted house caught his eye, but then alongside it, the tunnel of love had been set up. Looping around inside, couples were boarding gondola-styled boats and circling into the dark tunnel, and oh, the things the two could do with the few short minutes they could have in there. So with a sort of grin on his lips, Sebastian grabbed James' wrist in a bold move, and gave it a gentle tug. "Come on," the British man taunted, "Let's go to the Tunnel of Love. Perhaps, by the time we're through, you'll actually admit how you -" 

"Moran!" Jim barked, snatching his arm back, hissing a sort of noise of displeasure, "I'm not going in the damn _tunnel of love_ , and you can go fuck yourself if you think I'll go in that dank, smelly, d-dark -" The stutter. The stutter gave it away. Sebastian caught it, his keen senses alert, and he wrinkled his nose. "You don't like the dark?" he asked, huffing slightly. The look on James' face told it all - a slightly affronted, slightly disgusted, slightly angered sort of guffawed huff.

“You have nyctophobia?” Sebastian laughed, saying the words loud enough to make James cringe.  
“No, it isn't a phobia,” Jim bit out, “I simply dislike dark spaces. Too quiet, not enough stimulation.”  
“Dislike it?” Moran bantered back, “If you have a fear of the dark, that’s a fuckin’ phobia!”  
Tightening his jaw, James landed a punch to Sebastian’s arm, before he went back to holding his soft toy tiger, and grumbled as he turned around, “Come on, we’re leaving.”

“No, no,” Sebastian hummed, stepping out in front of the Irishman in the suit, “You promised me one more thing, and I expect you to deliver.” Under his breath, James muttered something that sounded like, ‘This is the last birthday gift I give you,’ but with the noise, Sebastian couldn't quite make it out. Pausing, Moran glanced around the carnival once more. The lights flashed and the children laughed... and screamed. Screamed. The haunted house, gleaming and looming with its dark lights, purples and blacks and blues flashing. A strobe light went off inside, and Sebastian's heart skipped a beat. It would be perfect, the perfect place for them.

With a nod, Sebastian smirked and started to lead James once more, this time towards the haunted house. There was a chime from him, a playful, "That seems more like our speed, doesn't it?" as they neared it, and James rolled his eyes.  
"It's campy," Moriarty huffed, but the little smile had returned to his lips, smearing across his face in that same simper.  
"It's perfect," Moran snickered, and gladly paid the two pounds at the ride's booth, "For us, anyways. It's a bit romantic, don't you think?"  
Hugging his tiger, James said nothing, but simply gave that flash of a grin up at his companion, stepping just a bit closer to him.

**Author's Note:**

> I apologise if this was long or boring, I tend to draw things out longer than needed... but I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
